Drabbles
by Whitechapelfangirl
Summary: ITV Whitechapel - SLASH - Three Chandler/Kent Drabbles


Pairing - Chandler/Kent

Disclaimer - Do not own.

* * *

When working in the office they acted like any other DI and DC. The lad would refer to Chandler as 'Sir' and run around doing his job and other miscellaneous errands he was sent on, while Chandler sat in his meticulously organised office looking over files and occasionally glancing through the glass, surveying his team. Unless you knew what to look for you would assume that both men were simply two ordinary co-workers.

Miles knew what to look for. After all, what good is being a Detective if you didn't notice the little things?

He saw everything.

The moments where Kent wasn't quite quick enough to pull his adoring eyes away from Chandler, when the DI praised the young man with a friendly hand on his shoulder, his fingers extending slightly so they just slipped down the back of the crisp white collar, gently caressing the soft skin there. Or even when they had nights out at the pub the two men would more often than not sit next to each other and Miles noted that their fingers brushed when reaching for drinks far too frequently for it to be coincidence.

The most obvious, though only Miles seemed to notice, was when Kent walked into the office one day wearing a tie which he was sure Chandler had worn only a few days ago. Yes, he was sure, it was the navy one that had two white stripes bisecting the silky material. Miles also spotted the lad once or twice running his fingers along the length of the tie, seemingly lost in a daydream, his eyes slightly unfocused and his lips curved into a tender smile.

Miles knew where to look and he thought that he might have known about those two even before they did! He continued over time to watch their relationship grow before his very eyes, his subjects unaware that they were being observed and completely oblivious to the smug smirk that Miles gave when they came out to the rest of the team.

* * *

Kent wasn't exactly sure how this had started, but after a while it seemed to become almost a normality. All he knew was that when it had happened for the first time, it was purely out of comfort. The Kray's had been caught and the team looked to be on the way up with their newfound reputation. That was until Jimmy was murdered and Johnny was found hanged in his cell. That night there had been no tenderness between them, just pure raw emotion, expressed through long fingers clutching skin hard enough to bruise, teeth crashing together painfully and swollen pink lips being bitten sharply enough to draw blood.

They never exchanged words of love or devotion, for that matter they hardly voiced any words at all about what they were doing. During the day they both acted as they did before; Kent playing the dutiful constable and Chandler being his usual OCD self. But at night once the station was empty and it was a lot easier to block out who you were kissing or fucking they would revert back to what couldn't possibly be described as lovers and yet neither friends nor co-workers.

Chandler was always reasonably rough, not hard enough to leave bruises or marks, but he defiantly wasn't gentle or loving as Kent imagined he would be. The young man attributed this to the fact that what they were doing was probably just a convenient way for Chandler to de-stress and vent his pent up aggression that built up during their job.

There were a few times when Kent nearly cried Joe's name during his climax, but every time he had to physically restrained himself, as during these moments there were no names. Chandler had never once said or even moaned Kent's name when they were having sex. He supposed that Chandler preferred to forget who he was sleeping with and instead take comfort in the physical aspect alone.

Kent couldn't deny that he was disappointed and disgusted with himself for allowing Chandler to use him in this way. But when he felt those long fingers on his skin, even when they were rough with him, he couldn't stop his body from responding eagerly and imagining that one day Joe might whisper his name lovingly into the shell of his ear, make love to him instead of fucking him or kiss him in daylight when his face wasn't hidden in shadows.

But for now Kent would take what he could get.

* * *

Joe could honestly say that he was slightly disgusted, shocked, upset and taken aback all at the same time when one morning at Kent's flat, he found in the young man's wardrobe, folded at the back, the light tan jacket Kent had worn to work the day he'd been attacked.

He pulled it out of it's hiding place after checking that Kent was still in the shower and tentatively unfolded the material.

The entire lower back of the jacket was permanently stained a deep red, the material hard and crisp under his exploring his fingers where the blood had dried. He stood up and laid the coat out over the recently made bed, noticing with a visible cringe the two long slashes in the material that were of exactly the same shape and size of the scars that Joe knew so well. His fingers had brushed them countless times and his lips had even traced them once or twice when the Kent felt particularly self conscious about them.

In his opinion the scars only made Kent more beautiful, but seeing the shredded coat and old, dried blood as hard and sharp evidence of what the Kray's did to the young man made all of those feelings he had felt at the time bubble once again to the surface. Anger, vengeance, hate, disbelief, the list was endless.

Joe's fingers were once again tracing the hardened blood stains and the ragged slashes when he heard the bathroom door open. Before he could attempt to hide the coat again Kent was standing in the doorway, wearing nothing but a towel, pale and thin body on show, his curls damp and hanging limply around his forehead and ears.

His face was what drew his attention though, it was slightly alarmed and embarrassed, but mostly it was just sad, his brown eyes flickering between Joe and the coat, memories of the attack clearly coming to the forefront of the young man's mind.

The older man quickly made up his mind and stood up from the bed, walked over to Kent and drew him into a warm embrace, making sure that the young man's face was tucked into his neck, hiding the coat from view. He ran his fingers through the damp curls, holding the small body to his.

"I'm sorry." Came the whispered apology.

Kent let out a humourless' laugh and lifted his head to look at Joe once again.

"Don't be. It was silly to keep the coat. I don't need any more reminders of what happened, I have the permanent ones." He replied, smiling up sadly at Joe. He took a breath, then turned to look at the coat, contemplating the ruined piece of clothing for a second.

"Will you bin it for me?"

"Are you sure?" A nod was his only answer. Joe slowly pulled away from the young man's grip, before picking up the tan coat and walking out of the room, his only intention to bin the ugly reminder of a very difficult time. He hoped that the action would make it easier for Kent to let the memory of the attack fade, for now he had no horrid blood stained object in the back of his wardrobe that resembled and brought to life every gruesome deed and every drop of blood spilt in the names of the would-be Kray's.


End file.
